Life&Limb (PASS Series Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  “Okay, I can do that.”

  “Who do you have on the shelter?” he wants to know.

  I haven’t mentioned anything specific to Willa, other than to say she’d be safe, but we called in a couple of our freelancers for security surveillance. One guy watching the shelter during work hours, and we also have someone keeping a close eye on Britt, just in case. Brad vowed to keep an eye on Willa on the inside.

  It’s been tapping our reserves these past few days since there’s no client footing the bill, but we all agreed it was necessary.

  “I’ve got Shep on Willa and Kai on the girl.”

  Shep Kirwin and Kai Olson are contract guys. Ex-military, both of them. Yanis has tried to get them to sign on permanently a few times, but they seem to prefer working on an as needed basis. It just so happens we call on them a lot.

  “Good.” He stands up and raps his knuckles on my desk. “Hold down the fort for me.”

  “Will do.”

  I watch him walk to the door where he stops and turns back.

  “Oh, and I think it’s about time I got an invite so I can properly meet that woman of yours.”

  “Fine. How’s Saturday?”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ll bring food.”

  As soon as he disappears I turn to Bree.

  “You should come too.”

  She laughs at me. “You just want me to come as a diversion.”

  “Yeah? Your point?”

  “You can deal with your brother on your own. Besides, from what I’ve seen and heard of Willa, she can handle him.”

  I smile at her characterization of Willa. She’s dead-on. Willa won’t easily be intimidated by my brother. It may actually be fun to see him taken down a peg or two by her sharp tongue.

  Suddenly I’m looking forward to Saturday night.

  Willa

  “Hey, Short Stack,” I hear Dimas greet Britt as she gets in the car.

  “Guess what?” is the first thing out of her mouth, and my eyes meet his, smiling.

  It’s been like this every day this week. Each time she gets in the car she’s full of stories.

  I’ve tried a few times to connect with my sister, to let her know her daughter is having a good time, but she’s not answering my calls or my texts and it’s starting to worry me a bit. Last night I resorted to calling my brother-in-law, who said she was fine and then basically blew me off.

  I voiced my concern to Dimas who suggested feeling out Britt, which I’d planned to do tonight.

  “What?” he asks on cue.

  “Twister can roll over and play dead. She’s sooo smart! She doesn’t even need a leash when we walk outside. She stays right beside me.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “Yes,” she emphatically agrees, which has me snicker. “And…Steve says I’m really good at training her and looking after her.”

  The hint is not lost on me or on Dimas, from the way his shoulders silently shake. More like a repetitive two-by-four between the eyes since she started there on Monday. The girl wants a dog. No, she wants that dog. The one who, according to Britt, has been at the shelter for over a year because nobody wants her. Something that admittedly does not leave me unaffected.

  I have a dilemma, though; let’s suppose I adopt Twister, Britt won’t be able to take the dog with her when she goes home—I don’t think Connie would allow it and there’s no way for me to check—which would mean the mutt is mine. Plus, Britt might still be heartbroken if she had to leave Twister behind.

  Also, when I occasionally had thoughts about a dog, I envisioned maybe a cute Labradoodle or an Aussie with those pretty eyes. Not a schnug. The name alone.

  Although, Twister is kind of ugly-adorable and super sweet.

  “Tell you what.” Dimas breaks the loaded silence from the back seat. “Why don’t I take you two out for dinner? What do you wanna eat, Britt?” he asks in an attempt to distract her. “Seafood, Italian, Thai, Greek, Mexican?”

  “Tacos!” she yells from the back seat.

  I reach over and give Dimas’s hand a squeeze.

  “Tacos it is,” he responds, lacing his fingers with mine.

  Britt loves the little, out-of-the-way restaurant where all they serve is tacos, Corona beer, margaritas, and a few nonalcoholic drinks. I was here before, but it’s been a while.

  The interior is very rustic. Somewhere between old shack and outdoor picnic. A lot of the decor is recycled wood, metal, and furniture. There’s not a chair matching another and half the tables are made of old pallets. The rest are simple wooden picnic tables you’d find outside in a park. Britt chooses one of those for us to sit at.

  The menu hangs on the wall, written on a chalkboard. Thirty-seven different taco-fillings, anything from shellfish salad, to roasted vegetable, to meat lovers. They all come with a side of homestyle coleslaw or guacamole.

  A girl in cutoff jeans and flip-flops wearing a shirt that says Tacos Only, the name of the restaurant, brings us some water and takes our drink and food orders. While we wait, Dimas and Britt play a game of hangman on the brown paper covering the picnic table.

  It’s nice, uncomplicated, and relaxing, until Britt has to visit the ladies’ room and Dimas grabs my hands across the table.

  “You’re caving, aren’t you?” he says with a smirk. He doesn’t have to spell out he’s talking about the dog, I know.

  “Agh,” I groan. “It’s so complicated.”

  “About as complicated as you make it, sweetheart.” I shoot him an annoyed glare, which bounces right off him. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “She’s going home at some point, Dimas. She’ll have to say goodbye to the dog.”

  “She’ll have to say goodbye one way or another. Except if you have the dog, she can visit and see her.”

  “You’re being reasonable and it’s annoying,” I grumble. I’m gonna get the dog. Not that I didn’t know that already. It’s just the control thing again. “How fun will it be for the dog to be home alone all day?”

  “Take her with you.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but then I close it again. Huh. Take her with me to the shelter. That might not be a bad idea. Good dogs give affection freely, and they don’t judge you by the way you look, they judge you by the person you are. They are four-legged morale boosters; they love the unlovable.

  An idea starts bubbling up, but before I let that run away with me I’ll have to talk to Rosie first.

  By the time Britt comes back to the table, the food has arrived and we’re too busy eating to talk.

  I wait until we leave Tacos Only and are on our way home.

  “Maybe tomorrow when we pick you up, we can have a chat with Steve,” I suggest, looking at my niece over my shoulder.

  I watch as her bottom lip starts wobbling and her pretty eyes fill with tears.

  “For real?”

  Dimas flicks a glance in his rearview mirror when he hears her weepy voice and smiles.

  “For real. But, Britt, honey, when you go home, you know the dog will have to stay with me, right?”

  She nods furiously, trying to wipe her nose at the same time.

  “I can still come visit her.”

  I side-eye Dimas, who has his eyes on the road, but is wearing an I-told-you-so smirk on his face.

  “Of course you can. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves yet, okay? I still need to talk to Steve.”

  “Okay,” she easily agrees, but she can’t help darting out of the truck when Dimas pulls into the driveway.

  I smile at her excitement as I unbuckle my seat belt and am about to open my door, when Dimas holds me back with a hand on my arm.

  “That’s one happy kid, sweetheart,” he says when I turn to look at him. “She’s lucky to have you.”

  The compliment warms me from the inside out and I lean over the console to press my lips on his in a soft kiss.

  “You were right,” I mutter, watching the fine lines by his eyes deepen with his smile.

&nb
sp; “It happens,” he says humbly, and I’m grateful he’s not rubbing it in.

  “You’re a good man, Dimas Mazur. The best.”

  I’m rewarded with a tender brush of his fingers over my lips.

  “Let’s see if we can get that kid to bed early,” he suggests, and his implication runs like a warm tingle all the way down between my legs.

  We each get out of the truck and meet at the base of the path to the house, his hand closing around mine.

  We’re halfway to the front door when I feel something whizzing by me, close enough to brush my hair and followed immediately by a sharp crack.

  “Down!” Dimas yells, and everything suddenly slows down.

  My eyes search out Britt, who is turning around, her eyes wide, as I feel myself knocked off my feet.

  “Britt! Get down!” Dimas yells again, even as he takes me down hard to the pavers and lands heavily on top, knocking the breath from my lungs.

  Another crack. This time slivers of stone fly up to my face and my eyes close tight.

  Shots. Someone is shooting.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dimas

  Holy fuck!

  My body recognizes something slicing the air before my ears pick up the distinct crack of a gunshot, and I yell a fraction of a second before I tackle Willa. I yell again, this time at Britt who is standing alone and exposed by the front door.

  Another shot has me cover Willa’s head with my arms.

  Then a sharp burning in my shoulder the moment my ears register a third.

  We’re sitting ducks.

  “We’ve gotta move,” I growl into Willa’s hair, pushing up on my knees and bringing her with me by wrapping an arm tightly around her chest.

  The fourth shot goes wide, and I glance over my shoulder to the banks of the Colorado River to see where the shots are coming from. With Willa tight against my front, I manage to shield her with the bulk of my body as I half-carry her to the small hedge under the living room window.

  Another crack, but by now I’m fueled with adrenaline and a singular focus in mind—keeping Willa safe—I don’t think bullets would be able to stop me.

  I vaguely hear Britt whimpering.

  “Stay down, baby!” Willa calls out to the girl from where I shoved her behind the hedge. Her voice is surprisingly firm.

  I’m crouched beside her, trying to take stock of the situation. My gun is already in my hand, even though I have no recollection how it got there. I need to get us inside.

  “Willa. Key,” I snap, not taking my eyes off the copse of trees on the water’s edge across the road.

  The fifth shot hits the window right above my head, which shatters, raining down glass on both of us.

  But I saw the flash this time, coming from the tree closest to the road, and I could’ve sworn I heard the bolt click in place.

  “In my pocket,” she says, her voice still steady despite our precarious situation.

  “Got your gun?”

  “It’s in my purse, I dropped it on the walkway.”

  “Shit. Okay, shooter is in that group of trees beside the river. I need you to get up the steps, open the door, and get Britt inside while I cover you. I have a full clip.”

  Another shot ricochets off the concrete steps. Fuck.

  “Ready?”

  Immediately on her, “Yes,” I start firing at the trees as we move to the steps. I make my body as big a target as I can and pace my shots to keep the gunman’s fire suppressed, but still give Willa time to open the door. Behind me I hear the door open and Willa hustle Britt inside as I fire my last bullet.

  “Dimas,” she hisses, and I turn and dive in the door, just as the shooter fires.

  “In the kitchen, behind the island! Now,” I bark, as another shot shatters the narrow pane of glass beside the front door.

  Desperation has the fucker shooting blindly.

  I pull out my phone and dial Yanis, even as I hear sirens in the distance. Someone’s called in the troops.

  “Someone’s taking shots at us from across Willa’s house.”

  “Stay down. On my way,” is all he says before ending he call.

  I crawl over to where a stoic Willa and a softly crying Britt are huddled on the floor behind the kitchen island.

  “Come here.” I sit down with my back against the cupboard and haul both of them into my arms.

  Huddled together, we listen to the sirens closing in.

  “We’re okay, baby,” Willa whispers to her niece, whose face is pressed against her shirt. “We’re gonna be okay.” Then she looks at me and mouths, “You good?”

  I nod affirmatively but she still reaches for the kitchen towel, wads it up, and presses it to the top of my shoulder.

  “You’re hit,” she whispers, her eyes concerned, and I notice a trail of blood running down the side of her forehead.

  Where the last five minutes dragged out like a slow motion movie, the next half hour plays out on fast-forward.

  I watch as an EMT closes the fortunately shallow cut close to Willa’s hairline. She has Britt’s head in her lap and her hand never stops stroking the girl’s purple hair, but her eyes are locked on mine. So strong, this woman didn’t panic once.

  I can’t help wincing when the second first responder cleans out the groove left in my shoulder by one of the shots fired at us. We were lucky, with only superficial wounds as a result of getting pelted with bullets.

  The settling darkness had helped, as had somewhat windy conditions, making accuracy a challenge for whoever has it out for Willa. Yes, there’s no doubt in my mind she was the target.

  The entire street has been blocked off and cops are everywhere, among them my brother, Jake, and Bree, who showed up minutes after they did.

  “They found four shell casings,” Jake says as he walks up. “Looks like he may have collected the rest before he ran.”

  Of course the shooter had taken off before the cops pulled up outside. My guess is he was on foot and had his car parked somewhere down the road. There’s a trail of sorts right along the river he probably used for access.

  “Any sign of the guy?”

  Jake shakes his head. “Cops are up and down the street, knocking on doors. But here’s an interesting tidbit Bree just picked up; that guy Parker? Apparently the cops have been unable to locate him thus far.”

  “He’d be my guess,” I share, as I watch Willa walk over with Britt. “Hey, sweetheart, you good?”

  “Just a scratch,” she says with a smile.

  “Yeah, me too.” I look at Britt, who glances up before her eyes slide over to the house. Still shell-shocked. “Hey, Short Stack. How about we do a sleepover at my place tonight?” Her eyes come back to me. “I’ve got a huge couch we all fit on and we can watch a bunch of movies.”

  “Okay,” she says, clearly warming to the idea.

  “Willa?”

  She has a soft look on her face and gratitude in her eyes.

  “That sounds perfect.”

  “How about Jake clears the way inside for you, and you guys can pack a bag?”

  “We can do that.” She leans forward and brushes my lips lightly with hers, before turning to Britt. “Ready?”

  The moment they’re out of sight, I turn to the man I noticed standing a few feet away from the ambulance. I’ve never met him but I know who he is.

  “You’re good to go.” The medic gives my good shoulder a pat and I slide down the back of the rig and walk straight up to him.

  “Don’t think we’ve ever had the pleasure,” I comment, not without a dash of sarcasm. “Dimas Mazur.”

  The chief of police grabs my hand and shakes it.

  “Chris Underwood.”

  He’s younger than I expected, fifty at most.

  “What can I do for you, Chief? I already spoke to a couple of your officers. Not sure what more I can add.”

  “Wanted to personally assure you and Ms. Smith we’ll do whatever it takes to find this guy, but I didn’t want to intrude w
ith the girl present.”

  That’s actually considerate of him. “I appreciate that.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind passing it on?”

  “Be glad to, and I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear it.”

  I don’t even bother hiding the sarcasm here. I don’t care how ‘involved’ he is after being called out, the fact remains shit clearly was happening in his department he either turned a blind eye to, or was completely oblivious to. Neither option says good things about him.

  “Right,” he mumbles, reading me correctly. “I gather from your brother there is—how did he put it—‘not a fat chance in hell’ your team will stand down, but I’ll repeat to you what I told him; it would be in our mutual interest to share any findings.”

  I can see why he’s chief, the politics shine through in his words. Basically what he’s saying is, I don’t care what you do as long as you let me take the credit. That’s fine. It’s not like we like the limelight in our line of business.

  “You bet, Chief.”

  I nod at him and turn toward the house, ready to collect my girls and watch some movies.

  Anything to distract from the fight or flight charge still buzzing right under my skin.

  Willa

  It takes me a minute to figure out where I am, when I wake up in the middle of the night.

  Drool is gathering under my cheek pressed into the well-worn tan leather of Dimas’s sectional. I immediately do as much damage control as I can by the faint bathroom light he left on.

  Britt is still curled up asleep by my feet, covered in an old quilt he pulled out of the hallway closet. She’d been the first to fall asleep, while Dimas and I were still killing off the bottle of wine he suggested to settle the jitters. It worked. I slept when I didn’t think I’d be able to.

  Until now, that is.

  Dimas isn’t on the couch, or in the kitchen.

  I carefully lift my feet over Britt’s head and sit up, waiting to see if I can hear anything. It’s quiet. Getting up, I head down the hallway, maybe he was uncomfortable and took to his bed, but he’s not there either. Not in either of the bathrooms, or the spare bedroom.